


Promises kept

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arguing, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gold Sick Thorin, Major Character Injury, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 14:43:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10573410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: Secrets are revealed when a gold-sick Thorin tries to arrange a marriage between Fili and the woman Kili loves.





	

Erebor, like so many things embellished by long imagining, fails to live up to your hopes.

There is the relief, as your little band of latecomers straggles into the mountain, of finding the rest of the company alive and unharmed by the dragon’s wrath, the elation of standing in these fabled halls at last…and there is Bilbo’s dire warning by way of greeting, the greedy, sickly light in Thorin’s eyes as he broods over the treasure hoard, the unnatural reverence in his voice when he speaks of it.

The joy of your reunion prevails at the meager supper Bombur prepares, from which Thorin is conspicuously absent. You sit close beside Kili, clasping his hand under the table while you listen to the colorful exchange of stories of survival, marveling inwardly at the miracle that you all sit here together, spared. A more sober mood falls over the table when Oin and Bofur take it in turns to tell the harrowing account of Lake-town’s destruction.

Conversation wanes with the flames of the lanterns, and Balin, to whom everyone seems to look for guidance now, seems weary in soul more than body as he tactfully suggests finding a place to lay your heads. 

“We’re all lodged in the royal halls, for now…they’ve taken less damage, being further in the mountain. Any unlocked door is free for the taking.”

Together, you find your way to the chambers that have been cleaned and made habitable, though they remain shrouded in musty darkness. Fili is the first to find a vacant room, peering into the open door by the light of the lantern he carries while Bofur and Oin disappear into the gloom of the long corridor.

“Well, I reckon this’ll do for me. Good night, you two,” he says tiredly, though his cheek dimples with a smirk as he adds, “try to get _some_ sleep, hmm?”

Kili gives him a playful shove into the room, and as the door closes on Fili’s low chuckle, the two of you move on to the chamber one door down. The handle gives when Kili tries it. The circle of light from your own lantern shows a threadbare but ornately patterned carpet, the arm of a settee, and just emerging from the shadows, the foot of a large bed, its canopy supported by wooden posts with intricate carvings.

You hesitate on the threshold.

“I suppose we should take separate rooms,” you suggest, but Kili immediately shakes his head.

“No,” he says firmly, a glimmer of pride flaring in his eyes as he takes your hand in his. “I’ve had enough of hiding. I don’t care anymore who knows…I want all of Middle Earth to see you by my side.”

You smile in spite of yourself, in spite of the melancholy uncertainty that lurks in the dark. An answering grin steals over his face and you yield to the gentle tug of his hand, allowing him to lead you inside.

The room is cold and smells faintly of dust, but Kili cheers upon surveying the fireplace by the lantern’s light.

“There’s plenty of dry firewood. I’ll get it going and we’ll be snug in no time.”

While he kneels beside the hearth with a tinder box, you carefully feel your way to the bed, finding a few folded blankets beside the pillows at its head. You busy yourself with making up the bed as the orange glow of firelight creeps over the room, flames springing to life under Kili’s measured breaths. A richly carved oaken wardrobe against the wall yields a quilt, well-worn but clean and soft, and you spread it over the bed as a finishing touch, distracted from your whirling thoughts by Kili’s quiet voice.

“ _Amralime_.”

He stands beside the fire, watching you with a wistful expression.

“Come here. Warm yourself.”

You go gladly to his arms, laying your head on his shoulder when he holds you close, his heartbeat a soothing thrum against your own and his sigh ruffling your hair.

“We made it,” you murmur.

“Indeed,” he smiles, his arms tightening around you. “Home at last.”

“What’s going to happen now? I mean, with Thorin being…well…” you trail off uneasily.

He cradles your face in his hands, tracing your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “Whatever comes, we’ll see it through together.”

“Always,” you vow.

“I love you.”

“I love _you_.”

Kili claims the brief space between you to press his lips to yours. Slowly, you melt against him, tangle your fingers in his hair to deepen the kiss as the craving awakens within you for the solace of his body. You part breathlessly, resting your foreheads together.

“There’s a bed waiting for us,” you remind him.

He grins, his fingers already plucking the laces at the bodice of your dress. “So there is.”

His bare skin is burnished bronze by the firelight and the embrace of entwined limbs and caressing hands envelops you in his warmth and strength. You’ve been together like this a mere handful of times, secret moments stolen along the journey, and a shy newness remains, but you know he will be sweet and eager and as tender as he is playful. The dark curtain of his loose hair frames shining eyes and soft lips that seek yours again and again while the darkness is forgotten and fear banished, and the world narrows to this room, this bed, the loving sanctuary of Kili’s arms.

* * *

In the morning, after a lie-in and the decadent luxury of a hot bath, you find your way back to the dining room where you’d eaten dinner. Most of the company are already spooning up the thin porridge Bombur ladles out from an iron pot, and you take your bowls and join them at the long table.

Dwalin enters the room with the air of a man on a mission, Balin and Bilbo following just behind.

“Thorin wants everyone in the throne room, and he’s not keen on waiting,” he announces. There is unmistakable concern in his glance between you and Fili, seated across the table from one another. “You two in particular.”

A pang of unease stirs in your stomach as you exchange questioning looks with Fili.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Kili says quickly, but his bracing smile fails to reach his eyes, and Fili frowns as he abandons his breakfast to join you in following the rest of the group from the dining room.

The throne room is grand beyond your wildest imaginings. Massive stone warriors flank narrow walkways leading toward a throne that stands at the tip of a huge, glittering stalactite, surrounded on all sides by the cavernous depths of the mountain’s hollow core. You nearly forget to be nervous in your gaping at the chamber’s magnificence.

Thorin sits restlessly on the throne, rising when he catches sight of the little party lingering in the doorway. His hand, heavy with jewel-encrusted rings, rests on his chest in a gesture of gratitude.

“My friends. I bid you come near.” His deep voice reverberates in the stillness. “I would share good tidings with the most loyal of subjects.”

Everyone hesitates on the threshold for a moment more before Dwalin takes the lead, striding forward with the rest of you trailing in his wake. 

As you approach, Thorin’s eyes light on you, and your skin prickles with the strange fervor in his voice when he calls your name and Fili’s, beckoning you both closer. With a last, surreptitious squeeze of Kili’s hand, you step forward as the company parts before you, going to greet Thorin with a low curtsy.

“Valiant maiden and faithful member of my company,” he says proudly, taking your hand to raise you up again before making a sweeping gesture toward Fili, “and the heir of my blood. The master of Erebor’s glorious future.”

With a triumphant smile, he takes Fili’s hand to join it with yours in his grasp.

“Soon, we will gather our kin to the mountain, restore it to a greatness that shall surpass even the days of Thror…and before the assembly of our people, you shall be wed, and the line of Durin continued.”

His words turn your blood to water in your veins, and your eyes dart instinctively to Kili’s stunned face where he stands as though frozen among the silent company.

“Uncle,” Fili begins cautiously, “we have no desire to marry.”

Thorin frowns, stepping back to wave his hand over you, as a shopkeeper displaying his merchandise. 

“Is she not pleasing to the eye? Amiable in company?”

“It is no reflection on her,” Fili says, releasing your hand, “only that we do not have each other’s hearts, as a betrothed couple should.”

Thorin gives an impatient little shake of his head. “Such thoughts are a luxury for softer times…softer men.” There is a wild urgency in his eyes as he leans in, his face close to Fili’s, clasping his shoulder confidentially. “We have the throne to think of, you and I. You must have a wife on whom to get heirs for yourself, for me. We must see the line of Durin prosper!”

“Thorin, please,” you venture, hating the tremble of your voice and the instinct to shrink away when he rounds on you. “Please, do not force me to marry Fili.”

“Do you think yourself above my generosity?” He stares at you in contemptuous disbelief. “Do you hold the Queen’s crown a trinket to be refused according to your whims?”

“Thorin,” Fili interjects, but Thorin only flings up a warning hand to silence him.

“I offer you the chance to be the mother of kings, and you behave as though I plead the suit of an apprentice boy from the marketplace–”

“Enough!” Kili’s voice rings out, echoing on the stone walls and riveting every eye to him where he pushes his way forward between Balin and Dwalin, flushed and fairly vibrating with indignation. “Enough, Thorin. She cannot marry Fili. She _will_ _not_.”

For a moment, Thorin looks almost amused by Kili’s defiance, like a grown wolf watching a pup play at attacking. 

“Why do you seek to command your King in this matter, my sister-son?”

Kili’s throat works with a hard swallow. “Because she is married already…to me.”

Thorin’s benevolent expression vanishes.

You’re vaguely aware of the looks of shock and alarm passing between the others, and Fili subtly places a steadying hand on the small of your back as Thorin looks sharply between you and Kili. 

“What foolishness is this?”

“We pledged ourselves secretly, while we were lodged in Beorn’s house,” Kili explains, his voice even.

“A child’s game,” Thorin scoffs. “You cannot make her your wife simply by naming her thus.”

“It was done according to the traditions of our fathers,” Kili insists, his anger rising in the face of Thorin’s dismissiveness. “We are properly wed, by the exchange of gifts and vows and the joining of bodies. You know as well as I do that anything more is mere formality. She belongs to me and I to her, and while I have breath, neither of us will marry another.”

Thorin stares at Kili as though seeing him for the first time in the heavy silence that has descended like a stormcloud on the room.

“Out of my sight, both of you,” he growls. “OUT!”

He bellows this last so suddenly that you jump, and Fili’s hand on your back propels you forward to meet Kili as he murmurs to his brother, “stay in your rooms until I come. I’ll try to talk sense to him.”

With a nod to Fili, Kili quickly shepherds you from the room, and you both resist the urge to run as you hurry through the long corridors toward the safety of your own chambers.

* * *

You’re trembling when you sink onto the threadbare sofa. Kili blindly gathers you into his arms, his hand moving in restless strokes over your hair.

“What are we going to do?” you whimper, fighting the panic that rises in your breast at this taste of Thorin’s capricious wrath. “What are we going to do?”

Your distress seems to bring Kili to himself, stirring him to take your shoulders in his hands, to coax your eyes to meet his. 

“Listen to me…listen,” he says, soothing. “Nothing is going to separate us. I promise you that.”

“But what if Thorin forces me to marry Fili? He’s the King.”

“It won’t happen. We’d leave Erebor first. And Fili would never go through with it anyway, you must know that.”

“I suppose you’re right,” you concede, letting out a heavy sigh as you rest your forehead against his. “Oh, Kili. How did we make such a mess of things?”

He has no answer, only a protective embrace and the press of his lips to your temple. When you shiver in his arms, he rouses himself to start another fire before returning to hold you, waiting, as the minutes pass like hours.

At last, a soft knock sounds at the door and with a reassuring nod Kili opens it to Fili, who drops into a chair beside the fireplace, stretching out his feet toward the hearth.

“I won’t lie, he’s furious. The word ‘banishment’ came up,” Fili admits, hastening to add, when Kili pales and grips your hand almost painfully, “mind you, I think we talked him out of it. Balin reminded him the throne would be still less secure with only one heir in line to it, and that seemed to sober him.”

“What will he do?” Kili asks, his voice strained.

“I don’t know. I don’t think he knows,” Fili answers, running his hand back and forth over his beard. “He’s been brewing this arranged marriage idea since the moment Smaug fell, and he’s not in a mood to see his plans thwarted. You’d do well to stay out of his way and try not to vex him…an extra shift here and there in the treasure room might help smooth your path.”

“Shift?” Kili frowns.

“The arkenstone,” Fili says darkly. “Thorin will have no peace until it’s found, so neither will the rest of us.”

“If we find it,” Kili asks, unable to keep hope from creeping into his voice, “will it cure this…sickness of his?”

“Who knows?” Fili sighs, suddenly looking older, more careworn, weary with the burden of knowledge that has been thrust upon him with Thorin’s affliction.

“Fili, I’m so sorry,” you offer. “We never dreamed to make trouble for you.”

He smiles wryly. “Well, at least you didn’t tell Thorin I was the witness to your vows.”

* * *

You learn to hate gold for the chill it carries, the hard edges that torment your knees and jab at your backside while you sift through seemingly endless piles of coins and trinkets. Jewels that would have stolen your breath a week ago lose their luster, worthless as glass in comparison to the one stone you seek.

The silence is broken by the growl that bursts from Kili as he flings a large, blue gem away in frustration, the sound of its clinking on the gold fading as it skips down the hillock of coins on which you sit.

“It’s impossible! Are we to spend the rest of our days scrabbling in this sodding treasure, waiting for the Elvenking’s armies to storm the gate?” Anger and helplessness war in his expression. “What kind of husband am I, to have brought you to this?”

“Kili, don’t think it,” you scold, sitting back on your heels. “Not even for a moment. None of this is your fault.” You give a quick glance around before lowering your voice. “Thorin is wrong. He’s wrong about everything. And perhaps, deep down, there’s still a part of him that knows it. We mustn’t give up hope.”

He nods begrudgingly, his shoulders slumping as anger drains from him, and you crawl over the sliding coins to kneel between his knees, cradling his cheeks with tender hands.

“In your Halls I will find a house,” you murmur, “in my heart you will find a home.”

A smile tugs at his lips, and the faint twinkle in his eye tells you that his thoughts have returned with yours to the peace of Beorn’s barn in the warm sunlight, the smell of straw and the buzzing of bees that served as a backdrop for the most solemn of promises.

His voice is stronger, more sure when he answers. “For as long as I live, my One.”

He steals a kiss, chaste and quick and wary of watchful eyes, and his countenance is brightened when he sits back and tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“Now,” you say, addressing yourself once again at the treasures that surround you, “why don’t we push these coins aside and dig down a bit, to see if there’s anything hiding underneath.”

* * *

Kili will defy Thorin once more, this time to find himself received with pride and unspoken apology.

You watch in awe as your King – clear-headed and keen-eyed and at last, _at last,_ the leader he was always meant to be – embraces his impassioned nephew, but your relief is short-lived as the realization sets in that Kili must join the battle that rages outside the mountain.

In the flurry of preparation that ensues, you feel him slipping through your fingers like water. Fear pulses in your veins while you watch him in these too-fleeting moments, committing the whiskey brown of his eyes and the purse of his lips when he smiles to memory. 

The company avert their eyes when he takes you in his arms one last time, holding you tightly, letting you cling to him while you blink back your tears and try to summon the strength to let him go.

“You have made me the happiest man in the world.”

“I’ll be waiting for you,” you whisper, and he smiles and kisses your forehead and your lips, and he is gone.

The mountain trembles around you with the great crash of the golden bell through the stone barricade and the entrance hall is flooded with sunlight, motes of granite dust sparkling in the air. You watch Kili to the last, catching a glimpse of dark hair and a raised sword before he disappears into the clash of armies in the valley.

* * *

He is pale when they carry him into the infirmary, paler than you’ve ever known anyone could be. His head lolls on the stretcher and blood seeps through his clothes, and the cry that erupts from your throat frightens even you as you rush forward to throw yourself at him, hold him in your arms even if he is already lost to you.

Bofur is there, sympathetic but firm, holding you back as you struggle against him to reach Kili, but a sharp word from Oin stills you.

“Stand back, lass, or I’ll have you confined to your chambers!” His expression softens with your efforts to smother your sobs, and he promises desperately, “I’ll do everything I can for him.”

Days pass, a week, and you refuse to leave him, even sleeping in a chair at his bedside despite the painful crick in your neck that comes of resting your head on your folded arms. Oin’s words pass over you in a fog… _blood loss, stitches, fever_ …and still Kili sleeps on, and you beg all the gods for mercy.

One quiet night, when the lanterns burn low and the few healers move ghostlike among their charges, your ears prick to the sound of slow, shuffling steps on the stone floor and Thorin emerges from the darkness to look soberly on Kili’s ashen face.

“How does he fare?”

“No change.”

“I saw his father’s end,” he muses, his own face drawn with pain in body and spirit. “I swore I would not see his.”

“Hope is not lost while there is life yet in him,” you insist, and he nods, still watching Kili.

He moves gingerly to step closer to the bed, reaches to lay his hand on the top of Kili’s head. Tears glitter in his eyes in the lamplight.

“I would have given my own life in exchange to bring him back safe to you,” he says quietly.

You only nod, silenced by the lump in your throat, and impulsively clasp his free hand. He holds your hand in a tight, grateful grip, raising it to his lips before turning with a trembling exhale toward the door. A few steps, and he is swallowed once again by the night.

In desperation, you crawl carefully into the narrow bed to curl up beside Kili, your silent tears dampening the pillow as you lie staring at his profile and wondering if you will ever share his bed again. His dark lashes rest on his bruised cheek and his chest rises and falls with a short, shallow rhythm that comforts you with the knowledge that the spark of life still burns within him. Gently, you take his hand between yours, holding it like an injured bird, and the soft sound of his breathing gradually lulls you to sleep.

You sleep deeply, and it is morning when you sit up with a start at a jostling of the bed. Oin is smiling for the first time since you can remember, lifting Kili’s head to bring a cup to his lips. Kili drinks long and gratefully and rests his head on the pillow once more, turning to smile weakly at you.

“Kili,” you whisper in disbelief, reaching with a shaking hand to stroke his hair away from his face. “Oh, Kili. I thought I’d lost you.”

“Not that easily,” he rasps, and a sob of gratitude nearly chokes you, all your pent-up fear releasing itself in tears.

“His fever’s broken,” Oin says, giving your shoulder a sympathetic pat. “You’ve still got some healing to do, lad, but I believe you’re out of the woods now.”

Oin gives Kili another drink and a dose of a thick herbal tincture with an earthy scent before going on his way to tend to his other patients. You lie beside Kili again, resting your forehead against his temple, laying your hand on his chest to feel the beating of his heart beneath your palm, strong and steady, and he musters the strength to place his hand over yours, sighing wearily as he curls his fingers around it.

“Fili,” he frets, his speech beginning to slur as the sedative does its work, “Thorin?”

“Mending,” you assure him. “They’re well enough to be back in their own chambers, but you gave us a proper scare.”

“‘M sorry.”

“You’re forgiven…but you mustn’t do it ever again,” you answer, with a watery chuckle.

“Promise.”

He is quiet, his thumb drifting slowly back and forth over your knuckles, and just as you wonder if he’s fallen asleep, he speaks again.

“ _Amralime?_ ”

“What is it, love?”

“You won’t leave me? Want to see you when I wake up.”

You think ruefully of your agonized vigil, and for the first time since he returned to the mountain barely clinging to life, you allow yourself to look beyond this moment to the future from which the shadows are fading. Kili will be reunited with his family and serve his kingdom and kiss you in the firelight and play with your children, and you smile.

“Not for a moment, my darling. Sleep.”


End file.
